


blue collar/white collar

by cl3rks



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Bartender - Freeform, Drinking, F/M, Karaoke, Rubber Neck Towing, Swearing, Tow Truck Driver, this is hockey AU tbh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-25
Updated: 2018-03-05
Packaged: 2019-03-09 09:33:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13478637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cl3rks/pseuds/cl3rks
Summary: There are many hardworking people in this world, these men are no different.





	1. snapped axel. (colton parayko)

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a Hockey RPF AU. So, hockey players put into other jobs. I have a list of who I want doing what job, and I won't be taking requests... but constructive criticism, suggestions, and kudos are always welcome. As always, I hope you enjoy.
> 
> [Also, Henrik Lundqvist is the owner of the first business and yes, I know, he's not on the Blues, he's on the Rangers, but I love him a lot and couldn't see anyone else being the owner. I don't know too much about cars or the towing business, so take everything I wrote with a grain of salt.]

It was… _pouring_ to put it mildly. You couldn’t see a thing as you drove down the highway, you had turned your radio off a few miles back but you didn’t know where you were. You hadn’t seen any mile markers for, well, _miles._ Your car’s heat was on full blast to minimize fog and it was only working about halfway, the rain far too heavy to provide any visibility to you or your windows.

You continued driving and kept glancing at your fuel gauge, eyes concerned as the little red needle danced closed to the ominous letter ‘E’ – “I swear to God, if you run out-“

But that didn’t happen, your tire blew before it could. You didn’t even hear it over the rain, but then suddenly the thudding of the rain was accompanied by your tire attempting to move more than it could and you were carefully pulling over to the side of the road. 

_Hazards: on._

You sighed exasperatedly, wondering if you should turn your car off or not. You figured you weren’t going to go out and check the damage, anyway, so you locked any unlocked doors and fished through the glovebox for your insurance card. Once you found it, you dialed the towing service’s number on the back. You held your phone to your ear, hearing the ringing for a few times before it clicked and a slightly accented voice greeted you.

“Thank you for calling Rubber Neck Towing, this is Hank. What seems to be the issue?”

You listened to your car shudder as it turned off and you let out a strangled sound, yanking your keys from the ignition. “Uh, I was driving and my gas tank was getting towards low but my tire blew and now my car just gave the fuck out and I’m… this is what I get for owning a beater, right? Some old car that can’t handle rain tearing ass from the sky?”

You heard Hank laugh easily, voice music to your ears. “Do you know where you are?”

“No, I-“ You heard your voice break solemnly as you looked around you, the rain still beating down on said hunk-of-junk. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen any mile markers for a little while and it’s dark.”

“Alright, take a breath, angel.” Hank said carefully, and the soft name made your brain finally catch up to your mouth. “Are your…” You heard him struggling to think of the word before some distant voice shouted, _hazards,_ and he relayed the same back to you. “Are your hazards on?”

“Yeah, I’m pulled to the side of the road. It’s a shitty green car-“

“Don’t have to describe it, I’ll ping your phone and send one of the boys out to get you. Just a moment, alright?” He paused for a moment, fingers clicking against a keyboard. “Yeah, I see you on my map. He’ll check the damage and see what’s up, it might be a bit more serious than a blown tire – we’ll figure it out. Oh, what’s your name?”

“(Y/F/N) (Y/L/N).” You said quietly, hearing Hank type something before he told you the estimated time and told you to hang tight. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” The receiver clicked and you dropped your phone onto your lap, sighing once more in the tiny space of your car. 

You probably only waited fifteen minutes, about half the time Hank had offered, before a large truck was rolling up on yours, angled behind you so if the driver needed to tow you, he could. You watched a _very_ large figure start towards you car, neon vest reflecting as their flashlight met the bright material for a moment. It still startled you when the figure knocked lightly on your window. The rain was beating down against the neon they wore.

You stuck the keys in the ignition, carefully rolling down the windows without trying to turn the car on and, fortunately, the figure – the man, the very handsome man – was shielding the rain from entering your car with one very large arm.

“How’s the night, miss?” He questioned, watching you crack a slight smile. He pulled a card from his pocket to show you. “My name’s Colton, uh, I’m with Rubber Neck Towing. I’m gonna see what’s up then get back to you, so sit tight for just a bit longer.”

He gave you a reassuring smile and a wink as you smiled back, rolling your window back up. You watched him from your side mirror and your rearview mirror, seeing the tall man carefully walk around your car and bend down for a moment before he stood straight. He pulled his phone out and took a picture of the back of your car, and what you assumed to be your license plate. He came back over and had you open your door, still shielding you from the rain as he asked for your insurance card and you showed him, listening to him tell you that once you got back to the shop, you’d hash it out.

“Can’t you just change my tire?” You asked softly, confusion written on your face as your brows furrowed. Colton shook his head, bright, blue eyes staring depths into you in the rain. “Why?”

“To put it simply, your axel snapped.” He told you, showing you the picture on his phone. “Dunno how you didn’t feel that while driving.”

“So, is my tire fucked or was it the axel?”

“Little of both.” He said slowly, gesturing for you to get out of the car. You huffed as he opened his jacket, herding you to stand under it as he held his arms up like he was going to fly away. You snorted to yourself at the thought, letting him walk you to the truck as he told you to get in on the driver’s side and slide over. He was radiating heat and you caught yourself before you practically pressed yourself against his large, visibly muscular body. “I’m gonna hook up your car, go ahead and settle in.”

You saw the logo _Rubber Neck Towing_ on the door of the truck and almost snorted once more as you saw the rubber chicken sitting on the dash. You scooted from the driver’s side to the hump then to the passenger’s side, eyes once more watching the rearview as he began to hook up your car. You decided to take your eyes off Colton and looked down at your phone you forgot you were holding, beginning to tap away at a text to a few friends. 

Your closest friend, however, called and asked what she deemed important: “How fuckable is the guy?”

“Jesus Christ!” You laughed out, glancing back at Colton. “I mean, he’s tall. Like… really tall – remember Daniel? What is he like? 6’4?”

“He’s 6’6, (Y/N).” Your friend replied distractedly, catching the gist of what you were saying. “So, what’s his name?”

“Colton. He’s got these big blue eyes-“

“I bet he’s got big other things, too.”

“Listen, I’m gonna hang up now.” You told her, shaking your head as her laugh came crackling through your phone. “Reception is kinda shitty and I left my charger at home by accident. Phone’s kinda low.”

“Alright, alright. Need me to come get you?” 

You felt the truck jerk slightly and saw your car fully up on the bed, Colton testing the chains on the side as he locked it. “Only after it stops raining, don’t want you to get into an accident. I’ll text you the address once I get there.”

She muttered something else and hung up, laugh filtering through the speaker. The driver’s side door was yanked open and you saw Colton shrug off his jacket and shake it out, folding it carefully to set it beside him on the seat. You watched his muscles strain against his shirt and had to look away as his arms moved, his biceps and forearms causing your thighs to press together as you shut your eyes. 

“Alright, it shouldn’t take too long to get back, a little more than what it took to get here – need to call anyone?”

“Already did it.” You replied easily, watching him flick on the heat as he closed his door, the rain being shut out as he turned his keys, the engine roaring to life. The radio was pumping some rock song into the cab but he turned the volume down, letting it flow gently through as he pulled away and began checking over his broad shoulders to look in his mirrors, the truck pulling a quick U-Turn on the slick road. “So… what’s with the rubber chicken?” 

He seemed to remember to buckle up halfway through the U-Turn and took his foot off the accelerator, letting the truck slow as he pulled the belt over himself and glanced to make sure you had yours on. He laughed at your question. “The new guy, Tage, thinks they’re funny. Threw one in every truck. My, uh, buddy – Bergie – he’s the only one besides me who actually kept it in our trucks. We think it’s kinda fitting, conversation starter, y’know? Makes drives less tense.” 

You nodded slowly, smiling to yourself. The two of you eased in and out of conversation as he drove, the bright light of the towing company glaringly bright as he pulled into the lot within twenty minutes. He told you to put his jacket on as he turned the truck off, telling you one of the guys would be out to get your car off the truck. You both walked in together.

“Jesus, Colts – where’s your fuckin’ jacket, it’s raining pooches out there and you’re gonna catch a cold or somethin’.” Some broad, dapper looking blond man swore, eyes rolling at the taller man. “Oh, the little lady’s got it, sorry.”

“I would’ve given her the spare but Vlad took it, I think.” Colton replied, a bunch of names flying over your head. “Where’s Hank?”

“Uh, probably eating. Robert and him were gettin’ hotpockets out of the freezer last I saw.” The man shrugged, walking over to you to shake your hand gently. “Patrik. I’m gonna be looking at your car, alright? If it’s serious, I’m gonna get a box and clear your stuff out… unless you want to?”

“I don’t care.” You told him simply, shaking his hand firmly as he smiled and pulled back. You held up the little piece of paper that had a few drops of water on it. “I’ve got my insurance, that’s about all I need.”

“Hank!” Colton raised his voice across the empty office, seeing the man in question pop-up from the breakroom, a hot pocket on the plate he was holding. “Got ‘er.”

“Ah! Angel, hello.” He grinned, stepping over to you. You took him in, his red flannel suited him, but there was no time for appearance grading as he sat down at a large desk and set his hot pocket beside the keyboard, beginning to type up a few things. The nickname made more sense to you as you saw the framed picture on his desk of what you assumed to be his wife, daughter, and of course, him. “So, what’s the verdict?”

You sat across from him as you handed him your insurance card and driver’s license, pulling it from the back of your phone. You glanced up at Colton as you peeled off the neon jacket and handed it to him, seeing the name _Parayko_ on the back as he hung it up. 

“Bergie’s checking it out right now, but it looked like a snapped axel to me. The tire popped somewhere along the road, as well.” He replied, going over to the coffee pot as you glanced at his back, seeing the shirt once more straining and you rolled your eyes, turning to glance at the other neon jackets on the wall. _Berglund, Bortuzzo, Thompson, Pietrangelo,_ and _Fabbri_ to name the few you saw. Colton glanced over his shoulder as Hank then you. “I don’t know anything beyond that, it’s a hunk-of-junk, to be honest… no offense.”

“None taken, it’s garbage.” You replied with a shrug, looking back at Hank. “I’ve got a friend coming to get me so…”

“It’s probably going to be junked in that case,” Hank muttered, photocopying your insurance card and your driver’s license. “You can’t drive it on a broken axel and I don’t think Bergie can fix that without ripping apart the back of the car. Unless you want him to?”

“No.” You sighed shortly, shaking your head. “I’ll just… find something.”

The two of you, meaning Hank and you, discussed options for a while before you agreed to junking it, signing something to send off to your insurance as you began the process of taking the car off your insurance itself. Hank also bought the car off you for a few hundred, telling you it was still a pretty good car, aside from the axel. They could use it for parts and that made your heart squeeze a little. 

“We can hook you up with a new car,” Patrik told you as he came in, after confirming what you three already knew. “You’ll probably wanna get some rest and come back, though.”

Your friend had come in while you and Hank had been talking, his hot pocket remaining untouched since he’d set it down. She was currently sitting beside you as she made eyes as Patrik, the man Colton referred to as ‘Bergie’ on a constant level. She also watched as Colton walked in, box of your stuff tucked under one arm before he handed it to you. 

As the two of you stood up to leave, the rain having let up since earlier, Colton handed you a little piece of paper and you glanced down, seeing a phone number and a smiley face on it. “What’s this?”

“Uh,” he looked a little flustered for a moment as he brought a hand up to scratch the back of his neck, your friend smiling ear-to-ear beside you as she nearly bounced out of her shoes. “It’s my number, you can text me, so we can figure out what kinda car you’re looking for, y’know? So, if you come back like Bergie suggested, we can get you a good car for a low price.”

You smiled a little, the night turning for the better as you nodded. “Okay, I’ll text you.”

The men in the little office rolled their eyes and went back to doing whatever they were doing. As the two of you left, you passed a few men coming in, all without jackets and all-tall and tired looking. You only assumed the neon jackets belonged to them.

Your friend wouldn’t _shut up_ on the way back home. Not as you tucked your box of car stuff into her backseat, not as you sat in the front seat and tried to ignore her, and not as you flopped down on your bed and she rambled on and _on_ about Colton Parayko.

You couldn’t blame her, though, because it took you thirty minutes to formulate how to text him a simple _hello_ without coming off as ungrateful or uninterested.


	2. never again. (ben bishop)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scratch that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love writing this shit gotdamn anyway this chapter is about my boy, ben bishop!!
> 
> truck driver time boyyyyyys
> 
> (ps, this is dialog heavy and sherry is actually modeled after a lady i met at a truck stop. she was v nice but working v late and gave me the same concerned, "have a safe night" that i gave her.)

First of all, you weren’t even _supposed_ to be here. 

If your date hadn’t turned out to be a lecherous creep none of this would have happened. 

You wouldn’t have left the restaurant early, you wouldn’t have ended up walking a little ways to get better reception because you had _decided_ to get a ride to your destination rather than driving yourself there. _Sensational._ It was like you’d somehow set yourself up for disaster – but that complaint would fall on deaf ears. 

To put it simply, your ass was lost in the dark.

Another car sped past you, causing a rush of air to sweep around you, the cool night air forcing you to pull your thin jacket tighter around you. You were huffing to yourself as you held your phone up and desperately waved it around, attempting to get some extra signal bar even as your 4G struggled to compensate for the loss, eyes wearily switching from your phone screen to the road and your surroundings. 

As you walked, you saw a light in the distance.

(It occurred to you, perhaps a few minutes too late, that your battery charge had lowered… considerably, so – twenty percent too far down for you to be comfortable with. The _27%_ was glaring back at you and it felt as though the three little symbols were mocking you.)

Back to the light – it was neon and bright yellow: a gas station! You practically ran to it, reaching the pavement in little time, deserving the break from your previous road-shoulder-gravel path. You sighed in relief, your aching feet happy to be on a flatter surface. You rushed inside, asking if you could use the attendant’s phone.

It wasn’t long before some guy offered you a ride and, to your surprise, there was no scuzzy catch. You thanked him, telling him you’d pay him for his time, but he declined, and you cautiously got into his small sedan, praying this wouldn’t be the last time you’d see the world around you. You eyed your phone nervously every minute he drove, his radio on even as the music came through muffled. 

He was young, not exactly close to your age but he wasn’t far from it, either.

The two of you pulled into a truck stop when he said he needed to check something on his phone, doing the safe thing and pulling over. You told him you’d run inside quickly, telling him you’d be back shortly. Every single hair on your body had to be standing up as he watched you leave the sedan, concern in his young eyes as he watched the truckers fuel up their vehicles. Their various sized forms moving in the dark like grass beneath wind – they just needed to stretch their legs and waste a little time.

It was surreal to you, almost, as you walked hurriedly inside, a little bell jingling above you. You passed a woman behind the counter, blonde hair pinned back as she read something, but you had the suspicion that she knew where any person was in the small building at any given time.

She had to be aware.

You found the washrooms quickly, hand pressing weakly to the gray door. You did your business before you stepped out, washing your hands as you heard that tiny bell jingle outside the rusty door. You heard talking then the bell jingled once more. You looked at yourself, rubbing your eyes with your still damp hands before smoothing some of your hair back. By the time you got back to the main part of the truck stop, you noticed that little sedan wasn’t sitting outside anymore.

“Oh, no.” You muttered, panic rising in you. “No, no – hey, uh, ma’am, did that guy come in here? The… the guy in the little car?”

The blonde looked up at you and nodded, opening her mouth to speak. The gentle Texas accent that poured from her lips made your nerves ease a little. “Was he with you, sweetie?”

“Not exactly? I got stranded, kind of. I bailed on a date and I got lost, he picked me up at the gas station a while back, brought me here. Did he come in at all?”

“Said somethin’ urgent came up, hon, didn’t tell me what but told me to tell you.”

You stared at her, shoulders sagging dejectedly at the news. “I – what do I do?”

“Well, no cabs are runnin’ at this hour, not unless you wanna pay somethin’ pricey. An’ buses don’t come out this far anymore, anyhow. You can always trek on down to that love motel? We’re open 24/7 here, pull up a seat at the bench?” You glanced at the bench she spoke of, eyesight bleary from your nervousness and fatigue. It looked like it belonged on a park, it was a glorified picnic table. You looked back at her and shook your head. She sighed softly. “Well, if you go catch a ride with one of the boys, be careful, sweetie. Some like to play rough.”

“Okay?” You murmured, squeezing your right wrist with your left hand. “Uh, anyone in particular?”

“Stay away from Patrick, he’s got a big a ego and he’s… just stay away from ‘im. You’ll hear ‘im before you see him.” She paused, the roar of an engine coming to life outside. “That might be Colts rollin’ in, either him or Ben.”

“Who…?”

“They’re all truck drivers, sweetie. They got their little nicknames from me, alright? They come around often. If you see Ben, he’s a big, lanky fella… he’d set you on your way, safe and sound. As would Colton,” Your brain worked in overtime to process this. “Maybe just stay inside, I’ll call one of ‘em in here, alright?”

She reached for the intercom button on the counter and spoke clearly, eyes stern and voice firm as her voice was heard outside. “Occupant of pump number 17, please step inside.”

You watched her as she stood straight, waiting. “Why not say his name?”

“Likes to be all… incognito.” She muttered, watching the door cautiously as you glanced down at her nametag, eyes glossing over the metal tag on her hot pink shirt. The name _Sherry_ stuck out to you as you licked your lips and sighed softly, looking away from her. You watched something move outside and suddenly the door was opening, a tall man leaning down so his head didn’t get taken off as you moved back slightly, by the chips. “There you are! I’ve got a favor to ask.”

You moved back a little more, suddenly very conscious of your appearance as you glanced at your phone screen. You didn’t realize you looked so tired. Even when you were in the washroom, you must’ve missed it. You started moving Doritos around, eyes focusing astonishingly harsh on the small bags in front of you. 

“Hey, hon?” She called to you, prying eyes finding you from the separation in the rack. “He’s gonna get a coffee, then y'all can head out. Sound good?”

You came out of your little space and nodded slowly, nibbling at your look. You looked at the tall man and he smiled easily, although tiredly. He raised an eyebrow at you, even as he introduced himself, _Ben Bishop_ was an easy name to remember. 

“Need something while we’re still here? You look exhausted.” Ben informed you, doing his best to be kind as he dug through his jean pockets for some loose change. You watched him fiddled with the pocket of his green flannel and thought, dimly, he’d probably look better in blue. It'd match his eyes, green clash too much. “Not to be rude, or anything. Just, uh… not many stops, y'know? Few and far between.”

You hummed quietly, eyes meeting his as you pursed your lips. You decided on hot chocolate, instead, and insisted on your own money as he backed off, nodding at your stubbornness. You reluctantly followed him out as he sipped his coffee, wishing Sherry a careful night as you did the same, a knowing utterance of, _you as well, hon,_ slipped last her lips and chilled you.

As you followed Ben to the giant truck at pump 17, an equally large man passed him and gave him a nod. “Long day, Parayko?” He asked of the blonde man.

The other shrugged, ruffling his hair. “Nah, just getting started… hey, drive safe!”

Ben hummed in response, nodding as he once more sipped at his coffee, waving in a sort of _you too_ type of way. As you walked in the tall shadow of Ben, another man was staring at you and you hurried along, nearly kicking at Ben's heels. He glanced behind once he heard your steps pick up pace and, you wondered timidly, how did he hear so well over the sounds of trucks all around you?

“Hey, uh, c'mere.” Ben motioned beside him, slowing his strides so you could catch up to him and be just a little in front of him. 

“New ride?” The man called, obviously not referring to the truck as he leaned against his own.

“Can it, jackass. I don’t wanna have to come over there and ruin a good cup of coffee on a fucked up person.” Ben informed, not even glancing over his shoulder. His eyes remained on you the entire time, helping you into the cab of his truck as you smiled warmly at him. He handed you his coffee, politely asking if you could set it in the cup holder beside your own drink. “We'll be outta here in a few… sit tight.”

You nodded for what felt like the tenth time that night, breathing deeply as you glanced over and down the front of the cab. The man was still staring at you but you were soon distracted by the glow-in-the-dark hat sitting atop the dash. You furrowed your eyebrows, reaching for it just as the driver's side door was yanked open. You practically flung the hat back as your fingers barely grazed the item. You watched Ben get in, buckling quickly and making sure you’d done the same before carefully pulling out of the station.

(You had a distinct feeling he’d been watching the other man closely and, as that man turned, you saw the beginning of a last name, you figured. It started with a ‘K’ but the truck you were in moved too quickly for you to finish the name. It was short, though, so you couldn’t blame yourself.)

“You can hold it, if you want. It’s not a big deal.” Ben told you, eyes never leaving the road as you glanced at him. His focus seemed tough to crack and you thought about it before reaching for the hat again, this time turning it over in your hands. “What’s your name, huh?”

“Oh, uh… (Y/F/N).” You said your first name softly before dropping your last name, shifting on the leather bench seat. It reminded you of a restaurant’s booth seating. “(Y/L/N).”

Ben checked his mirrors for a minute as you suddenly felt the truck’s speed, the slight bend in the road making you aware of it – especially as you glanced at the speedometer and saw the fifty quickly turning into sixty then seventy, the (hopefully) experienced driver merging into the highway traffic he was directing his truck into. 

“What happened?” He conversed, his eyes darting all over the road to check everything. You looked at him, unsure what he meant. He must’ve realized as he looked at you, his bright (but tired) blue eyes meeting yours. He smiled a little, making your heart melt easily. He turned his eyes back to the road, licking his lips as he reiterated. “People don’t just go to truck stops looking for a ride home.”

“Oh!” You said loudly, nearly slapping your hand to your cheek. “Uhm, I was on a date. The guy was… creepy, to put it mildly. I didn’t drive there, either, I got dropped off. So, I was trying to find reception, started walking, and I got lost.”  
“I see,” Ben muttered, making an easy lane change as most of the highway was empty. “Normally, Sherry doesn’t ask me. She’s a sucker for Colton, though. Kid’s got her hooked. Just had to ask why someone would be looking for a ride at _that_ truck stop, in _those_ clothes.”

You thought back to the blond man, one who shared the tall height with Ben as you glanced down at the tight emerald dress you wore. You cleared your throat, shifting again. “I got a ride at a gas station I found, the guy dropped me at the truck stop and… ditched me.”

Ben hummed a response, moving his head slightly in a curt nod. There was a gentle silence for a while before he spoke again, eyes still on the road. “Where am I taking you, exactly?” 

“Joplin, please.” You replied, rolling your shoulders. “Are we still in Weatherford? I wasn’t sure how far I walked.”

“Yeah, but just barely.” He chuckled, tilting his head to crack his neck. You noticed he didn’t have much of a Texas accent when he spoke, wondering if he was purely passing through. “Won’t take too long.”

“You’re probably wondering what kind of guy makes me want to sit a car for thirty-something minutes to go on a date with.” You glanced at him again, voice nervous as you spoke. You watched him shrug, flannel shifting. “I got set up with him by a friend, that’s who gave me the ride.”

“It doesn’t matter to me, and I don’t mean that in a rude way, (Y/N). I mean that in a, _it’s your life_ way.” He glanced at you, quick to look back at the road. “It’s on my way, anyway.”

The tired expression he had made you wonder how true that statement was, especially considering the way his semi was pulled into the truck stop. You wondered if maybe he was heading in an entirely opposite direction, but you stopped the thoughts, thankful nonetheless. You would just need him to drop you at a place where you could walk the rest of the way, and that’d be that.

_You’d never see each other again._

It was silent again before you got to talking, your fried nerves making you jittery. “You don’t have a Texas accent.”

“You’re one to talk.” He replied quickly, appearing to be on his toes more than you thought. “I use to live around Tampa, now I’m in Dallas.”

“Flordia’s nice, I hear.” You muttered, looking out your window to see all the buildings you were passing, eyes taking them in wearily. You decided it was time to pry a little. “Are you heading to Dallas after, then?”

Ben eyed the rearview mirror. “Gotta go home sometime.” 

You thought carefully, Joplin was only a little over a half hour away from Weatherford, but it was triple that back to Dallas. You hadn’t lived in Texas long, but you’d lived there long _enough_ to know the time it took.

He was going out of his way to get you home. 

You moved your hands, rubbing them together as Ben took notice, turning the heat up in the cab of the truck. You were sleepy, to say the least, yawning to even support it… but you didn’t want to fall asleep, you just wanted to be home. Even if you were grateful for the kind man driving you, you had to stay alert!

“I don’t think I’ll be going on too many dates after this.” You muttered, rubbing at your eyes. You didn’t really care about your mascara at this point, feeling the sticky resistance of your eyelashes. “Kinda keep setting myself up for disaster.”

“You’ll find somebody and, hey, if you don’t? What’s it matter? Being single isn’t so bad, y’know? Saves money, you don’t have to share your food – well, I wouldn’t share it, anyway.” That statement got a laugh out of you, glancing at Ben as he looked at you, a wide smile on his face. He looked you over then cleared his throat. “It’s a lot easier.”

“Are you single, then? I can’t imagine it’d be easy to keep a relationship while driving around for hours on end.” 

“Yeah. Like I said, easier.”

After that, it was pretty much quiet in the cab and before you knew it, Ben was pulling up to your apartment block. Naturally, he didn’t turn in because it was too narrow for the truck but he patiently waited as you gathered yourself. You thanked him softly and he nodded, watching you go to slip out of the seat before you practically threw yourself back, wrapping him in a tight hug.

“I mean it. If you hadn’t have picked me up, I don’t know what situation I’d be in…” you trailed off, voice shaky from exhaustion. “But thank you.”

He muttered something, but it was muffled from your jacket and you laughed gently as you pulled back, beginning to look for something. You found a map and a Sharpie, hearing him make a sound as you scribbled your number on the border. You found it sweet that the map was marked as a ‘Destination Tracker’ in what you assumed was his writing, various places had stickers and checks on them.

He finally spoke, eyebrows pulling together. “What’s that for?”

“If you ever need anything, ever – hit me up.” You put the Sharpie back in the cupholder and the map back between the seats, eyeing him. “Anything at all, even if you’re just bored.”

Then you were on your way, marching down the sidewalk to your apartment building as you heard a door then your name. The truck’s engine was loud, but the mass of the block helped balance it, even in the darkness. (You knew your elderly neighbor would give you a speech on it later.)

You turned around as Ben strode towards you, covering more ground in a shorter amount of time before he was standing over you. He was holding his hat tightly before he gave it to you, and you gasped, nearly shoving it back. 

“This is yours, I can’t take it!”

“You can and you will, alright? Besides, it goes with the dress.” He laughed, his shoulders moving in the slightest. “I’ve got others.”

“Ben, I really can’t.”

“Think of it as a souvenir for surviving the night, alright?” He said this as he backed up, turning around easily to go back to his truck. “Put it on!” 

You sighed gruffly as you looked around, lights in apartments going on as you put the hat on. You felt something poke you as you tried to adjust it, taking it off to see a tiny piece of paper tucked into the band. You pulled it out and saw, _you too,_ in his writing with a number below it. You smiled to yourself and looked up, seeing Ben wave before he left the block.

You went up your stairs and settled into your apartment on the third floor, exhaustion firmly setting in as you clutched the hat and fell back onto your bed.

_Maybe scratch the whole ‘never seeing each other again’ thing._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahh fuck thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed!!


	3. tutu. (patrik berglund | brad marchand)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a new-to-you bartender and what appears to be a rejected frat boy at your regular place, oh how lovely!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was SUPPOSED to be a oneshot for bergie but shit turned into some harmless banter with marchy real quick. even though it's not genuinely a flirty conversation with him, i still put him in the title ?? just in case it comes off that way. this is unedited so if smth doesn't make sense.... forgive it
> 
> warnings:
> 
> slight drinking, swearing, dumb + dialogue heavy - forgive it, i like writing people talking.

You swore to yourself you wouldn’t pick anyone up, that the farthest anything would go would be some shameless flirting. Tonight was about you and getting a couple drinks with friends, the single ones, at least. You were on a break, thankfully, studying having been halted for some bullshit holiday your college suddenly decided to recognize – you didn’t care, you were happy. 

Which is why you were sitting at the bar with your shoes hooked on the stool’s support bar, not really caring that you were sitting next to one friend as she showed you some cat pictures. She was already a little tipsy and you told her she wasn’t leaving the bar, you had to be able to find her. She was your buddy for the night. However, your other two friends were currently dancing with each other as some guy tried to get between them – the two firmly locking their arms around each other to prevent it.

Honestly, you had to chuckle at his attempts, the hopeless puppy eyes he had being turned down as he went off to find a slightly tipsier girl to dance with across the bar. 

You sighed to yourself, staring down at the fruity cocktail that had been thrust upon you by your dear friend, the one currently showing you a – “Is that a dog? Sweetie? I thought you were showing me cats.”

“Huh? _Oh!_ I am, I just thought this little Pomegra… Pomeranian was cute.” She grinned sheepishly at you as she flicked to the next photo, nearly dropping her phone when she looked up and started fixing her hair. You glanced at her, holding back a laugh at her sudden _composure_ and wondering what caused it. “He’s cute.”

“You just almost called a Pomeranian a _pomegranate,_ Liz. You’d think anyone is cute.” But then you looked at what the previous bartender’s shift change had brought you and you felt your throat dry in the slightest. You took a quick sip of the fruity cocktail and mumbled, “Shit, he _is_ cute.”

“Told you!” Liz giggled, poking you with her knuckles to jab at you better. “Dreamy.”

“More bad, I think,” Yeni said as she pulled Kaylen with her to take a seat at the bar, their dancing ceasing for a moment. “Mmm, what do you think his name is?”

You squinted at his name-tag, watching him turn and begin towards your end of the bar to start checking in on people. Your eyes caught the engraved silver of the tag, suppling his name. “Patrik.”

He must’ve heard you, because he turned to look at you as he passed and you nearly sunk in on yourself at the sudden attention. “Hm?”

“Oh, nothing.” You replied, smiling gently at the hum. “Just looking at your tag.”

“I see – need anything, then? Ladies?” He asked, throwing that cliché towel over his shoulder as he leaned his elbows on the bar, the black of his uniform stretched over his broad shoulders. It made your jaw clench, because even though he _appeared_ to be talking to your friends, he was watching you with an amused smirk. “Another Tutu?”

“What’s that?” Liz asked softly, squinting.

“The thing the two of you are drinkin’.” Patrik replied, chuckling easily. “It’s what Carter calls ‘em.”

“Ooh, yeah! That’s right! When I asked for something cute and fruity, he mentioned that!” Liz bubbled, looking over at Yeni as she spoke.

“Yeah, right after he told you to go look in a mirror, sweetie.” Yeni teased, leaning over to poke your dear friend. “Anyway, we don’t need anymore drinks but she might. We’re gonna go dance – c’mon, Lizzie.”

“Wait, she’s my –“

“What, your buddy? You’ll be fine, the bartender seems to have taken an interest in you.” Yeni grinned wolfishly, lowering her voice as she patted your arm. “Besides, if something happens, come find me – okay? I’ll have Kaylen beat the shit outta them.”

You chuckled softly, looking up at Patrik’s back, his black dress shirt straining against his broad shoulders. He was working on a drink for another patron, a man who had found a seat on a stool near Liz before she moved. His gaze shifting before he found you, sliding off his stool before moving to sit beside you as your girls left to go dance in the back near the karaoke machine. You sighed exasperatedly, not wanting to get caught up with the man who _clearly_ had nothing better to do than bother you.

“Hello,” he smiled, sticking a hand out. “Brad.”

“Hi, I’m (Y/N).” You didn’t return his smile, shaking his hand firmly as Patrik turned around, eyes narrowing in the slightest as your hand slipped from Brad’s grip. Patrik set down a little white napkin and placed the tumbler on top of it, pushing it toward the short man beside you. “Did you need something or…?”

“Well, _hopefully,_ your number.” He said bluntly, taking his drink, and sipping out of the dumb little straw on the edge of the drink. You watched him as he shrugged, backwards hat holding his hair in place. He looked like some rejected frat boy, in all honesty. He even had one of those baseball-style shirts on, his smile expectant. “Or, y’know, just a conversation?”

In your peripheral vision, you saw Patrik navigating conversations by interjecting. He was maintaining drinks, managing patrons, all while keeping an eye on everybody… on _you,_ especially. 

You nervously nibbled your lip, turning your head away from the man as you took a long sip from your fruity drink. “I… just a harmless conversation?”

“Oh, shit. I’m sorry, am I making you uncomfortable?” Brad asked sincerely, voice gentle as he furrowed his eyebrows. You shrugged, leaning over the bar. “Damn, happens a lot, then? That sucks, I’m not trying to – I swear. I can beat it, if you want. Just say so.”

“We can talk, I’m not gonna get weird. It’s just –“ You laughed to yourself, shaking your head at the quick change in demeanor. At least this rejected frat boy could take a hint better than any other man you knew, so you turned your head and smiled sincerely at him. “Some guys just don’t get it.”

“Hey, believe me. I’ve had to have a word or two with guys like that.” Brad mentioned, holding up the fist that wasn’t holding his drink. “Some have been my friends, shit can’t fly.”

“Well, it’s good somebody feels that way.” You replied easily, looking back as you suddenly heard your friends’ voices filling the karaoke speakers. You cringed to yourself, shaking your head at the scene before you. Liz was being (haphazardly) held up by Yeni and Kaylen, the three singing some cat-yowl cover of Separate Ways (Worlds Apart) by Journey. “God, I can’t believe them.”

“Friends of yours?” Brad questioned, watching Patrik walk past the two of you again. The tall man moved expertly as another bartender filled the space, some even _taller_ blond kid who looked a lot less intimidating. He didn’t have any tattoos – that you could see – and looked like he’d lay down over a puddle so someone could walk across him rather than get their shoes wet. “They seem to be having fun.”

“Yeah, they’re… they’re with me, unfortunately.”

“Hey, don’t feel bad. Mine are up after them,” Brad pointed out, taking a long drink of whatever brown liquid was in the tumbler. “A lot more embarrassing, trust me. They like doing Take On Me every time we come, and, _shit,_ if Tyler were here, he’d already be dancing on a table.”

“Sounds awful!” You laughed, watching him nod as you two listened to your friends embarrassing singing, attempting to drown yourself in your _“tutu”_ before you looked up to see Patrik wiping down some glasses as he watched your friends. You felt a heat rise to your cheeks, gripping the martini glass a little tighter. 

Brad started to get up as you furrowed your brows, pulling a pen from a cup behind the bar as Patrik swatted at his hand. He worked quickly to scribble down some numbers on a napkin, handing it to you. 

“What’s this?”

“My number, I have a song to sing.” Brad told you honestly, beginning his walk to the karaoke machine as your friends began to wrap it up. 

“Wait – I thought you weren’t involved?”

He laughed at your words, nearly sloshing his drink all over himself as he turned around to meet your eyes. He shook his head, smiling wide. “No, I start it off!”

“Oh my God!” You covered your face, watching your friends clumsily set down the microphones as they flopped where Brad’s friends had been. You tucked the napkin into your pocket, shaking your head as you asked Patrik for a bottle of beer. Everything on tap was too fancy. “Are they regulars?”

“Marchand and the gang? Yeah.” Patrik replied easily, his accent coating his words. He spoke bluntly, from what you could tell. He twisted the top off the nondescript beer bottle, setting it down in front of you as you met his eyes. “They’re harmless, believe me.”

“Oh, I gathered that… for once, y’know?” You smiled slightly up at the man, watching him nod as he began wiping down the bar beside you. He pitched the napkin Brad hadn’t used, eyes focused intently on the towel he was using. You cleared your throat, watching him perk up. “How long have you been working here? I haven’t, uh – haven’t seen you before.”

“Gag me with a spoon!” Was yelled somewhere across the bar as Patrik answered.

“A long time, I should say. I work days, but Carter needed to run and Colts can’t handle the night-crowd himself, kid’s too new.” Patrik answered honestly, smirking curling at the corner of his lips. “Why? Come here often?’

“God, that was so cheesy!” You nearly yelled, a chuckle bubbling up from his chest as you shook your head. You looked off as Brad’s voice flooded the speakers finally, barely able to keep a tune as he began singing. “But, every weekend I’m here with my girls.”

“Guess I should switch to nights, then. What do you think?”

“And why’s that?” You flirted, heat deepening across your cheeks. You played his little game, tilting your head to the side in the slightest. “Hm?”

“Well, I could get use to seeing you here. How else am I gonna?” Patrik questioned deftly, throwing his two cents into your metaphorical hat. He grinned sharply, his hands pressed to the bar as he slung the towel over his shoulders. 

In a bold move, you grabbed a napkin and the pen Brad had used. You knew Patrik was watching you as you scribbled your number down on the napkin, sliding it across the clean bar to the attractive man in front of you. “Text me, I’d be happy to find time outside this place. How ‘bout that?”

“Sounds like a date, but what’s your name? (Y/N), was it? Did I overhear correctly?”

You nodded curtly, determination spreading across your features. He mirrored the action, picking up the napkin as you stood, tucking it into his shirt pocket. You pulled some money from your pocket to set it on the bar, allowing him to pick it up to put it into the register. 

“Keep the change, Patrik, I have a song to sing.”

Patrik chuckled to himself, shaking his head as he watched you move. Brad and his friends were screeching Take On Me and, by God, you were ready to sing your usual: Africa by Toto. The entire bar was in for their usual Friday night treat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhhhhh hell yeah karaoke my dudes??? hope you enjoyed. i watched that remix thing of brad marchand singing shit today so blame that hell

**Author's Note:**

> im such a thirsty piece of shit what the fuck ANYWAY thank you so much for reading!! my writing always feels rocky to me, but this is some of the easiest shit i've ever written.
> 
> [i was originally going to call this blue collar boys and white collar daddies but i had to refrain]


End file.
